The Price of Growing Up
by datbenik513
Summary: The events of the first three years at Hogwarts leave an imprint on Harry Potter, a much deeper imprint that he would have cared to admit. Of course, his fourth year, one that he had hoped "sitting out", would not pass without at least a few other events that would cardinally change his life, forcing him to grow up much faster than he had wanted.
1. Chapter 1: The Fourth Champion

_A/N. After more than a year of having not written a single word, I'm trying to return to the fanfic world. So this is more a finger exercise than a fully fledged story; if my muse doesn't leave me, however, this might as well turn into at least a novella-length ficlet._

 _I know that the GoF year had ben rewritten by multiple authors much better than me; I would like to encourage you to read the following stories currently residing in mty favourites' list:  
_ _\- A Cadmean Victory by DarknessEnthroned  
\- Letters by TheEndless7  
\- His Angel by durararaaa (unfortunately discontinued after 30-ish chapters)  
\- The French Connection by .Darkness-X_

 _On a side note, I'm not planning to turn this into a Harry/Fleur story, at least not at this point. You might want to read "I Remember" if you are interested in my take on that pairing._

 _So here it is, the first chapter of my take on GoF with a Harry that had grown some balls in his first three years. Trying not to make it too much out of character, but yeah, the balls are definitely there. It's way out of my comfort zone; please feel free to criticise but only if you have constructive criticism to add._

 _Chapter edited and reuploaded 5/12/2016._

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"...Harry Potter..."

Have you ever seen a place where more than a half thousand teen-aged people are crammed together eating the most exquisite foods they have ever tasted in their lives turn _dead_ silent in the matter of a few milliseconds? Because, I swear on Merlin's withered whiskers, it was all it took when Dumbledore, after only a short second of hesitation, uttered my name, turning around the battered piece of parchment he was holding in his hands several times.

It was only a minute after I had stood and applauded together with three of the four Houses when the Goblet had spat out the name of our resident womanizer – otherwise a pretty decent guy – Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion. It was 45 seconds after I had grabbed Ron's collar in order to prevent him from making a fool of himself once again, as Bouillabaisse Girl a.k.a. Fleur Delacour, the drop-dead gorgeous part-Veela Beauxbatons champion had risen graciously from her spot beind the Ravenclaw table, the piece of parchment containing her name just having landed in Dumbledore's hand. It was mere 30 seconds after Slytherin table had burst into ovations as the rising Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, had secured his position among the Champions.

30 seconds of utter and sheer madness... and then, said complete silence. I couldn't help but wonder it it was the same kind of silence Neil Armstrong had experienced on the Moon after having made that historic step.

"Harry Potter!"

It's kind of hard to ignore one's name being called out in not-so-dulcet tones by He-who-has-too-many-titles-altogether, so I slowly stood. Five hundred different faces, five hundred different emotions on them. Pain and incredulity radiating from Hermione's chocolate brown eyes. Disbelief etched onto the beautiful faces of our resident Indian twins gracing Ravenclaw table with their presence tonight. The ever-present smirk mixed with a glorious amount of curiosity – yeah, you already guessed, the Prince of Slytherin.

By now, my remaining brain cells had duly registered something utterly and completely having gone haywire and made a not-even-so-shocking discovery. Ladies and gentlemen, as of this moment, I hereby re-baptise the Tri-wizard tournament into Quad-wizard tournament; the Quad being yours truly, Harry James Potter, the Boy-who-had-just-been-royally-screwed.

Of course I hadn't put my name into that fucking goblet. Why would I? Here I was, minding my own business and hoping for a relatively calm school year and a chance to hit on that gorgeous fifth-year Ravenclaw of Chinese origin and maybe grab a chance or two for some educative snogging sessions in a broom closet, thank you very much. Having had at least one near-death experience per year in my first three years, I was _really_ looking forward to it. But no, someone just _had_ to screw it for me and to put me up for the Tournament. Anyway, no time for self-pity, I had to get out of this situation as soon and unharmed as possible. My head was spinning around as I dove into some older memories of mine, memories of a night under the full moon in the Shrieking Shack.

 _"I, Sirius Orion Black swear on my life and magic," my mass-murderer Godfather intones clearly , "that I wasn't the Secret Keeper behind the Fidelius Charm cast by Albus Dumbledore to hide the Potter family. I swear that said Secret Keeper was Peter Pettigrew. I also swear that I haven't betrayed the Potters' whereabouts to You-know-who. So say I, so mote it be!"_

 _All of us present in the Shack – Ron, whimpering from the pain in his broken leg, Hermione, her hand in mine, whom I have been shielding with my body from the ex-guest of Hotel Azkaban, Remus, training his own wand on Pettigrew – witness the brief flash encapsulating Sirius' body. Nodding satisfiedly, the battered wizard raises my holly-and-phoenix wand again and mutters "Lumos", then, as the tip of the wand lights up, "Nox"._

 _"Harry needed to have been made sure, Moony," he grins, showing off the level of dental care he had been receiving during his 12-year long stay in the penthouse of the island hotel._

 _"Mr. Black," the trembling voice of Hermione interjects, "what would have happened to you if you had lied?" I swear the Hat had been piss-drunk while sorting her. She's channeling her Ravenclaw even at the wand-tip of an escaped convict, for fuck's sake!_

 _"Stripped of my magic, then died. Or died, then stripped of my magic. Pick one, girlie," his eyes are ablaze again as he turns to the rat and points my wand between Pettigrew's eyes._

Right-o, one Wizarding Oath coming up! Inspiration stroke when the silence broke, turning into a cacophony again, albeit a slightly different kind.

"Well done, Harry!" One of the twins – I still mix them up every time – clapped me on my shoulder.

"It can't be! He hasn't done it!" Hermione's eyes filled with genuine tears.

"C'est impossible!" Our Beauxbaton guests were equally shocked. I would bet the deed to Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Sussex on the hunch that all of them, even the barely 9-10 year old girly sitting next to the spot Fleur had just vacated dreamed about getting into the Tournament

"Dead man walking, Potter!" It must have been Goyle; Crabbe hadn't been able to master English to such depths until the age of fourteen.

"Cheater!" _Now, now, Ron... Where does this crock of shit come from?_

"HARRY POTTER!"

 _Honestly, do you have to show off with your "Sonorus" charm? My ears are still ringin, dammit! Think, Potter, think!_

"You have forgotten my middle name, Headmaster," I spat back, my remaining brain cells working over-hours. "What can I do for you?"

"Will you please follow the other champions into the antechamber and wait for us there?"

 _So, you are firmly set on having me compete in your bloody Tournament, you whiskered goat-fucker?_ "No, I will not please, Headmaster," I spoke clearly, walking up to the dais where said wanker stood nursing what – I hoped - without a doubt would be a Saturnus-sized headache pretty soon. Drawing my wand, I turned to the public, successfully suppressing the urge to take a deep bow.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic..."

"No, Harry!" _Bless you, Hermione, I love you dearly, but shut up once in your life, will you? I got it... I guess, and if I don't, well... fuck!_

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic," I raised my wand toward the enchanted ceiling, "that I haven't had any intentions of competing in the Triwizard Tournament and haven't put my name into the Goblet. I also swear that I haven't asked any other person to put my name into the Goblet. The person to have done so has acted without my agreement and against my will. So say I, so mote it be."

 _Here it comes..._

The sudden, blinding white flash encapsulated me, then disappeared. I released the breath I wasn't even aware of holding back. I was alive, a good sign indeed. Well, only one way to find out...

" _Nox Maxima_ , motherfuckers!" I yelled, and suddenly all light in the Great Hall disappeared, releasing a second wave of sheer chaos into the crown. Silently hoping that my trembling legs wouldn't give in, I watched as here and there a feeble light would come into existence – _Lumos_ charms - until the light returned – a wandless and silent _Finite_ , most probably the Headmaster showing off again.

"Mr. Potter..." he started again, but I continued ignoring him. "Ronald Weasley," I called out to my now ex-friend. "A word, if you please."

For a moment I felt as if I were standing on the scene of a Broadway theatre at the premiere of "The Cats". Three years of being continuously and unwillingly standing in the spotlights does that to people.

The carrot-head slowly stood, clearly not understanding what I was up to. Neither was I, sorry to admit, but I had to make my point.

"Mr. Weasley," I spoke in a deliberately low, yet sharp voice. "A few moments ago you accused me of cheating my way into the Tournament and lying about it, isn't that correct?"

"Well..." he stuttered, flushing bright red and nervously wringing his hands, "it's not like that..."

"It's like _what_ , you back-stabbing bastard? Did you pronounce the word 'cheater' or was it a product of my delirious imagination, yes or no?" I was on a roll; three years of pent-up frustration pouring out onto one unlucky Weasley. None of _that_ was _his_ fault, but that 8-inch blade he'd just stabbed me with came in the fucking worst moment in my entire life, so he had to pay. The rest who had landed me in this situation would come later, of course.

Now I had the complete attention of the Great Hall. Almost.

"I have taken a Wizarding Oath, Weasley, and I haven't lost my life or magic, either. That means that I wasn't lying when I said that I hadn't entered myself into the Tournament. By calling me a cheater, you insulted my family and, according to the Old Laws, I - the Scion of House Potter - have the right to challenge you to a honour duel."

I stood, my eyes locking onto Hermione's and giving her a barely perceptible wink, until the miniature chaos caused by my last words slowly died down. She gave a small, nervous smile in return, yet she seemed to be genuinely put off by all that had happened in the past few minutes. _She and I, we would have a talk later. She'd be scolding my head off my shoulders, I would try to explain to her why I had to do what I'd done... that is if I survive the coming few minutes._

"Ten galleons says Weasley kills Potter out of mercy so that he wouldn't have to disgrace himself in the tournament."

The Slytherin table burst into laughter; of course, the intermezzo went unpunished as usual.

"Professor... Snape, if I may impose on your kindness as to officiating?" I turned around with a broad smile, making eye contact with the Greasy Bat.

"Enough of this, Mr. Potter. Do as you've been told and join the other champions," the twinkle disappeared from Dumbledore's eyes.

"Headmaster, I have no intentions of doing so. I don't know where you've been the past few minutes, but I've just proven that I cannot be considered part of this ridiculous tournament. Let me spell it out for you: I AM NOT A CHAMPION AND WILL NOT COMPETE." I turned back to Snape. "For three years you have been accusing me of being an attention-seeking brat, a celebrity and whatnot. For three years you haven't been able to put aside the childish grudges you may or may not still be feeling towards my long-dead father. Professor, Christmas comes early this year; I'm sorry that I had to seek attention to prove my right. As an additional bonus, you may watch as two of your least favourite students will try to sweep the floor with each other and, if you are lucky one or even both may turn up dead. So, will you participate in the fun?"

Snape pressed his jaws together, his glare drilling holes in me. "Thought so," I nodded, turning to Flitwick. "Professor, I always considered you with the deepest respect. Due to your decades of expertise in this field, it is with the same respect that I request you arbitrate my honour duel with Mr. Ronald Weasley."

"Mr. Potter," the diminutive Professor rose. "It pains me immensely to say so, but I recognize your right as Challenger and I will be honoured to officiate."

"Filius," McGonagall interjected in a voice full disbelief. "Surely you don't think that two of my Lions should blast each other to smithereens because Weasley's tongue is faster than his brain cells?"

Flitwick nodded sadly. "Before I answer your question, Minerva, please take a second to think why _one of your Lions,_ Mr. Potter had decided to turn to me in this matter and not to you, his Head of House? Every year before the Sorting Ceremony you tell the first years that their house will be something like their family within Hogwarts. Now, it seems to me that you have been doing your utmost to contradict yourself and, when it comes down to _your own Lions_ , you are doing a darn good job of forgetting your own words." He grinned, flashing his pointed teeth – some of the more faint-hearted might have called his grin a nightmare - and his Goblin blood silently enjoyed the shocked expression on McGonagall's face as the truth started to sink in.

"Very well," he nodded, hopping off his chair and walking toward us. "Albus, scoot off, be a good boy," he nonchalantly waved his wand, putting up a perimeter ward with a 15-feet diameter around himself and me. "Mr. Weasley, if you please."

Fred and George, book-ending Ron, grabbed him under his arms and swiftly delivered him into the center of the circle. Fred – at least I thought it was him – winked at me, then, quite unexpectedly, went down on one knee in front of me, George swiftly following his example.

"Mr. Potter, Sir..."

"...please grant your humble servants..."

"... a tiny request of..."

"...not hurting our brother too much..."

"...while teaching him good manners..."

"...otherwise there will be not much left for us..."

"...to continue his education..."

"...and to further utilize his sorry arse as our, rather unwilling, I must say..."

"...test subject for our newest range of school-skivving product line..."

"Rise, good people," I dismissed them with a mock theatrical gesture, barely able to contain the roaring laughter any 30-second interval in the presence of the twins would never fail to induce. Flitwick wasn't as lucky, however. Shaking his head and barely able to suppress his mirth, the Professor turned to us both.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter has challenged you to a honour duel. Will you accept the challenge or will you apologize and forfeit?"

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for Carrot-head. Almost. Should he forfeit, he would publicly acknowledge of being an arsehole. Should he accept the challenge, well... it could go either way. The Gryffindor in him, however misplaced it was, won after brief contemplation – hell, I was not sure he would even know this word - and he nodded morosely, avoiding my glance. "I accept the challenge."

"The rules are as follows. This is an honour duel, so no Dark curses, no Unforgivables, no life-threatening curses or hexes are allowed. The party to resort to using such curses will be immediately disqualified and automatically declared loser. The duel will end when either or both opponents leave the circle, or when first blood has been drawn. Mr. Weasley, as the Challenged, you have the right to decide whether you choose a duel with seconds, or without."

"Pick me, Weasley, I beg you!" _Yeah, I love you too, Malfoy._

"Without seconds, Professor," Ron muttered, determination is his eyes.

"Very well. Opponents, please stand with back to each other and make five steps. When done, turn facing each other, wands lowered. On my one, you bow to each other. On my two, you lower your wands again. On my three, you may cast. Terms clear?"

Having received two affirmative nods, Flitwick directed us to move away from each other as told and, when the five steps had been made, he started to count.

"One..."

I raised my wand, tip pointing at the ceiling, in a saluting gesture and bowed briefly, Ron doing the same. Never having attended a proper duel except that mockery in second year and having a more than limited repertoire of spells, I just silently hoped I would not make a fool of myself in front of 500+ students from the three leading magical schools of Europe, or at least that I would make a lesser fool of myself than Ron would make of himself. I wasn't really sure that the whole thing was such a brilliant idea, but there was no turning back. Some Gryfindow I am, throwing myself headlong into deep shit without thinking. On the other hand, in situations when said shit was hitting the proverbial fan, I could at least make sure that everyone who should be covered in a thin layer of excrement _would be_ covered.

"Two..."

 _This is it. Damn your fucking mouth, Ronald Weasley. Three years long my best friend, sometimes even my only friend, just to sell me off like this. Haven't you learned anything about me, these past three years?_

"Three..."

I instinctively ducked to the left; Ron being right-handed, I expected him to cast to my right side. Indeed, his weak _Reducto_ blasted a few pebbles out of the marble floor in a harmless distance, far from my right. A weak _Protego_ shield deflected the rogue ones flying towards me, out of harm's way. He followed up with a second one, now aiming better, so I had to pump some more magic into the shield to reflect his curse.

Twisting the wand motion into an upward curve under a 45 degree angle, I muttered _"Aguamenti_ ". The water showered Ron, soaking him to the skin, and the floor in a 6 feet circle around him, my unexpected attack breaking his concentration. I saw my opening. " _Glaceo_ ". The water on the floor immediately turned to ice, Ron instinctively ducking to the left as the yellow beam of the otherwise harmless jinx soared toward him. Losing his footing from the sudden movement, he fell flat on his arse, in a wondrous manner managing to shoot a weak stunner. I had to dodge, the minute delay giving him the chance to regain his stance. He didn't attack, however, only shot a murderous glare in my direction.

"Kill him, Weasley!"

"Ten points from Slytherin, and a week detention, Mr. Malfoy." _Better late than never, Professor McGonagall._

Of course, we simply _had_ to come up with the same attack.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The two jinxes met halfway, the resulting blast throwing us both off our feet. Ron stood up faster, but his wand wasn't at ready yet. _Now or never._ " _Levi osa!" _I cried out from my lying position, trying to ar-ti-cu-late as good as possible. I always wanted to try this spell, after Ron's success in his unequal fight with the troll, and now I saw my chance. Sure enough, in a fracture of a second we had a fourth-year Gryffindor in the air completely at my mercy. Directing his flight, I lifted him outside the duelling ward and with a flick of my wand I broke the invisible seam of magic, causing Ron to plop back into his chair, effectively ending the duel. Now I could stood up as well, still slightly panting from the magical effort maintaining the Levitation charm on such a heavy object had taken.

"Clean fight, clean win for Mr. Potter", Flitwick announced, cancelling the wards around the duelling circle.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," I bowed to Hermione. Were it not for her nagging, I would have never got that jinx right. She got the hint, bless her soul and weakly smiled back at me, casting a murderous glare at Ron.

The reaction of the Great Hall at our tiny spectacle was mostly positive. More than a few applauses, an appreciating nod or two, but also a few boo's in my direction and a clearly disappointed "Dammit Weasley, you bloody Squib!"

"Now, if you are quite finished, Mr. Potter," the Whiskered Wanker clearly didn't get the hint yet when to give up.

"Headmaster," I spat back in the coldest voice I could muster. "I felt obliged to defend the honour of my family from the bland and unprovoked accusations of nota bene one of my own – and your former – House and, as Professor Flitwick was so kind to point out, I had every right to do so. With that out of the way, I'm afraid that the show is not over yet." From the corner of my eye I saw the three Champions, Karkarov and Maxime, as well as the representatives of the Ministry returning from the antechamber, most probably trying to figure out the reason behind the noise in the Great Hall and the delay in the evening show.

"Professor Flitwick, thank you for facilitating this duel. May your gold flow freely and your enemies tremble at your name," I turned back to the Ravenclaw Head, bowing respectfully. Even if he was surprised by the way I thanked him, he masked it expertly. "May I have one more question? Is there a way to summon... Aurors, is it? Can we summon Aurors to the castle?"

The diminutive professor nodded. "I understand where you are going, Mr. Potter. Mr. Percy Weasley, would you be so kind as to Floo-call the DMLE and request the immediate presence of a few Aurors?"

Percy promptly rose from his chair and made his way towards the same antechamber without uttering a word.

"Is this completely necessary, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall inquired, clearly at a loss. "Whatever you're thinking you are doing?"

"Exactly my point, Minerva." _Brilliant. Mr. Crouch woke up as well._

I briefly contemplated about my options. There were not too many of them, unfortunately; actually only one that was even remotely feasible. However, I needed the Aurors here before answering the questions, so I only glared at them without saying a word. Luckily, it took only a minute before Percy the Prat re-emerged from the antechamber in the company of a a bald black wizard, six foot six, and a rather curvaceous, young witch with bubblegum-pink hair, both wearing what must have been Auror standard robes.

"Albus," the black wizard greeted the Headmaster, giving his hand a firm shake.

"Kingsley, my friend. Good evening, young Nymphadora." _Honestly, what kind of screwed-up parent could hate his child so much to name her Nymphadora?_

Obviously, she shared my sentiment, as her hair cycled through violet, light blue and grass green, before resuming that hideous bubblegum pink colour. _How on Merlin's saggy pants did she do that?_

"Erm... it's simply Tonks, professor Dumbledore..." she muttered embarrassed, examining her feet.

"Of course, Miss Tonks," Dumbledore cast his obligatory peacemaker smile at the young witch. "I am terribly sorry for disrupting what must have been a quiet evening for you, but young Mr. Potter here seems to be in need of your... services. Harry, this is Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and..."

"Good evening, Senior Auror Shacklebolt," I extended my hand to the man towering over me, silently praying that I get it back in one piece. However, he shook it in an unexpectedly gentle way. "Good evening, Mr. Potter," he rumbled in a deep bass.

"Good evening, Miss Simply Tonks," I smiled at the young woman. Once this evening had turned out the way it had turned out, I decided I could just as well have some fun out of my rather fucked-up situation. I was still running dangerously high on adrenaline, what with the tournament and my impromptu duel with Weasley.

"Good evening, Mr. Simply Potter," she upped the ante, flashing a 32-tooth smile. _God is she gorgeous. Says I, the barely 14-year old youngster with absolutely no experience in the opposite sex whatsoever. And that smooth, silky, sweet voice... How old is she? 20? 21? Waaay to old for you and waaay our of your league, Potter! Let go of her hand before she hexes you to Jupiter and back!_

She winked at me, and her hair briefly took the exact shade of my black. _Brilliant. Now I will have the exact opposite of a nightmare. Damn you, teenage hormones!_

"What can we do for you, Mr. Potter?" Kingsley inquired, summoning a small notebook and a Quick-Quote Quill from the depth of his Auror robe.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt," I stressed his rank, looking straight into the Headmaster 's eyes, after having cast another " _Sonorus_ " on myself, "I would like to report one count of attempted murder, one count of conspiracy to murder, and multiple counts of willful neglect as to the well-being of several minors placed under one's magical guardianship." When I saw that angry flash in Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes and heard the collective "oooh" of the 500+ souls present in the Great Hall, I knew my poison arrow had reached its target. Dumbledore unexpectedly grabbed my elbow and directed me out of the Great Hall, toward the antechamber, the Aurors, McGonagall and Flitwick following us. Passing Bouillabaisse Girl, her glance shocked me, but only for a moment. A furtive glance, nothing else, a mixture of approval and respect.


	2. Chapter 2: Accusations

**A/N. Here's the second chapter, slightly shorter than expected, nevertheless it's here. Cookie to the first attentive reader who spots the Easter Egg.**

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The antechamber – the same room where I, together with the other first-year students, stood three years ago waiting to be sorted – had now only one round table seating the eight of us. Apart from three magical Bluebell lights floating above the table, it was dark inside and the sound of the last shuffling feet died away in the background – the Prefects had led the students back to their dorms as the feast had come to an end. An elf had been summoned to bring in some light refreshments for the two Aurors and a minute of pregnant silence fell. Bookended by Flitwick from the right and Simply Tonks from the left, I sat straight in the rather uncomfortable chair, curiously watching the other adults around the table.

Kingsley thoughtfully sipped from the amber liquid in his crystal glass – Muggle Scotch on the rocks, I guessed – while Tonks made short work of her Butterbeer, clicking appreciatively with her tongue. McGonagall fidgeted nervously in her chair, her stern glance firmly set on me. Bagman and Crouch heatedly discussed something I couldn't make out even from the three feet distance separating us, furiously whispering into each others' ears. The twinkle having left Dumbledore's eyes long ago, his scrutinizing glance was in vain trying to catch mine as if he were trying to pull out of my mind what I was playing at.

Having set his empty glass down, the black wizard turned to his notebook again.

"I'm now opening the inquiry into the accusations made by one Harry James Potter of Godric's Hollow toward one or more not yet identified persons on the 31st of October, 1994." The Quick-Quote Quill diligently scratched away at his words. "What are your accusations, Mr. Potter?"

I would just as well have preferred Harry, simply Harry, but it was an official inquiry, one that I had requested. So I just went with it. I took a deep breath and considered phraseology.

"I accuse of one or more persons to have put my name into the Goblet of Fire as a candidate for the Triwizard Tournament. This person or persons must have been of age or otherwise skilled enough to thwart the age line of 17 years the Headmaster had put around the Goblet to prevent underage students from entering the Tournament. I have already sworn a Wizarding oath that I hadn't entered myself and here I am, alive and kicking and with my magic still present."

I took a sip of my tea to moisten my dry throat. Then, suddenly, that tiny little light bulb went off, you know, the one you see in cartoons and comic books.

"The last Triwizard Tournament one hundred and seventy five years ago was cancelled when all three participants died in the first task. So, you see, the someone that had entered me into this Tournament must have been hoping that I would die as well..."

"But surely, my boy," the jovial voice of Ludo Bagman broke my train of thoughts, "you surely dreamed of participating? Think of the honour, the attention, the flashlights?"

"Mr... Bagman, is it?" _Trying to play the scared fourteen-year old here, with much success, I must add, being the same scared fourteen-year old._ "You honestly don't think that a fourth-year student like I am could ever dream of surviving whatever tasks you might have thought up, let alone win this Tournament against seventeen-year old, of age wizards and witches, each the best of the best in their respective schools?"

"Well, you did vanquish You-know-who, my boy, not a minor thing in itself," Bagman retorted.

"Ludo, back to the point, please," a clearly irritated Crouch – who must have been hoping to be at home an hour ago – cut him short. My opening.

"So yes, lacking three years of academic schooling in comparison to the _real_ champions, I would have had no real chances in the Tournament and would most probably have lost my live. That's why I call this 'attempted murder'. Furthermore," now I was on the roll spewing bullshit, "what with the Triwizard Cup being an ancient object with very strong magic, it most have been someone with equally strong magic who had managed to make the Cup accept my name."

Kingsley looked at me with clear interest and the quill stopped half-way in the sentence.

"Mr. Crouch," I turned to the elderly wizard, "what is the proper way for someone to enter his name in the contest?"

"The candidate must write out his full name and the school he is representing on a piece of parchment in his own handwriting, Mr. Potter."

"Brilliant. Headmaster, could I see the parchment you have read my name from, please?"

Dumbledore reached into his robe and produced a few scraps of parchment. Fleur, Viktor, Cedric. "I... I'm afraid I can't seem to find yours, Harry." The ancient wizard was clearly at a loss.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt, could you please add one count of what the Muggles would call 'tampering with evidence', please? So let me get it right: someone wants me dead and enters me into the Tournament, the Cup spits out my name and my esteemed Headmaster doesn't even think it appropriate to try to find out what has happened? Was there a school written under my name on that scrap of parchment, Headmaster?"

"If we can wait two minutes, we can all review my memory of the event. I happen to have a Pensieve in my study that we can use for this occasion," Dumbledore offered, summoning the same elf that had brought in the refreshments a few minutes prior.

The elf returned shortly with a huge stone bowl that had been placed in the centre of the table. Dumbledore drew his wand and placed the tip against his temple. Murmuring a short incantation, he slowly drew the tip away from his skin pulling a silvery strand of... something what it seemed straight out of his head. Directing this something above the bowl, he let it drop onto the stone surface. Upon making contact, the strand turned into a silvery, opaque, misty substance swirling around in the basin.

Dumbledore's wand tapped the Pensieve on a particular spot; I vaguely recognized a small drawing carved into the surface of the stone that I had seen Hermione draw in her Ancient Runes homework a few weeks ago. _Sowilo_ , the Rune of Beginning she called it. Were it not of the same shape as the thrice blasted scar on my forehead, I would have considered it cool.

The mist in the bowl coalesced into a three-dimensional shape and we watched the events from Dumbledore's perspective once again. _One, two, three scraps of parchment, then the blue flames in the Cup die away. Half a minute later the flames reappear and a fourth piece of parchment is being spewed out of the memory – Dumbledore's eyes – zoom in onto it. HARRY POTTER. All capitals, no middle name, no school. It's not in my handwriting, either._

"There you have it, it's not my handwriting!" I screamed out, seeking agreement in the eyes of my teachers. Both McGonagall and Flitwick nodded approvingly; of course they had been reading my essays for three straight years and were painfully familiar with what I would call 'my handwriting'.

"Barty," Dumbledore turned to Crouch. "You saw it for yourself. Can Mr. Potter's entry be considered valid under these circumstances?"

"The rules are clear, ladies and gentlemen," the wizard nodded. "While, formally, the piece of parchment, with the help of which Mr. Potter's entrance into the tournament had been gained, didn't meet the requirements, the final decision as to which applicants will be chosen as Champions lies solely with the Goblet. I am afraid that Mr. Potter has no choice but to compete. Failure to do so would result in him losing his magic; being chosen as Triwizard Champion constitutes a magically binding contract."

 _Just fucking brilliant._ I slammed my fist onto the table and stand. My words addressed Kingsley, but my eyes were fixed on Dumbledore and all present at the table saw it. "And here is, Senior Auror Shacklebolt, the remaining topic of the evening. As Albus Dumbledore , Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the magical guardian of all Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students, I accuse him of willful neglect as to the well-being of a minor placed under his magical guardianship. Again. As he had done regularly in the past three years. I will now let you work out the minor details and bid you all a good night."

I pushed my chair back and, deliberately slowly, so that my trembling legs wouldn't give in, walked out of the antechamber, across the eerily empty Great Hall, towards the steps leading to Gryffindor Tower. Shocked silence followed my steps.

And then, the sound of a loud _thump!_ and a few selected cusswords in a young female voice interlaced with pain.

"Oh, it's you, Miss Simply Tonks? Are you all right?" I turned around and rushed to the young Auror, who was sitting on the cold stone floor wincing painfully and massaging her aching knee. She glared me for a second, but accepted my hand nevertheless and I pulled her up from her sitting position. For a girl, erm... a young woman, her grip was surprisely strong. Auror training-strong, I guessed.

"Damn my clumsiness," she spat, casting a minor Healing charm at her knee. "I had to retake my Stealth exam at the Academy twice. "

"I think I remember you, Tonks," I said, "you were a seventh-year Puff when I came to Hogwarts. And a Chaser, a damn good one, if my memory serves me well. Shame you had no real Seeker that year."

"Ah, the good old Hogwarts times... Quidditch matches, Hogsmeade Saturdays at Madame Puddifoot's Pink Fluffy Heaven, broom closets..." She winked at me and I felt my face flush red. She laughed at my uneasiness – she did have a deep, melodious voice that would not have misstood in a Muggle popgroup with some weird name like Molotov Jukebox or whatnot.

"Come on, cousin, don't tell me you haven't yet discovered all the fun a faraway, dimly lit corridor with a long-forgotten broom closet can provide to the young heart?" She cackled again - rather pleasantly, I should say - clearly enjoying my ever-growing embarrassment.

"Cousin?" Now I was intrigued. _Am I related somehow to this gorgeous woman with the heart-shaped face and hideous pink hair?_ "Pray tell!" I grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the closest empty - Ravenclaw - table, pulling two chairs. I couldn't tell why I felt so at ease with someone I had met less than half an hour ago, strange as it was; I just did. Quite possibly because we didn't have a history together.

"Well," she started, "many – in fact almost all – Wizarding families are interlinked by marriage. My Mum, Andromeda, is a Black by birth." I gasped, the small intermezzo not getting past her trained Auror senses. "She has two sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix. Cissy is a Malfoy now, so young Draco is my direct cousin. Aunt Bella is enjoying an extended stay at Hotel Azkaban as the former right-hand of You-know-who."

 _Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant._ "Do I have to worry about you wearing the Dark Mark on your forearm?"

"A good question that I myself would have asked in your place. Constant Vigilance and all that jazz," she cackled again. "Mum had married a Muggle, so her family cast her out and disinherited her, even burning her and me off the family tree tapestry. But, I agree with you, it _is_ quite an illustrious bunch of folks, what with Aunt Bella mad as fuck and Sirius, the mass murderer. He's the three sisters' cousin. Your paternal grandmother was also born a Black – my _beloved_ Granny's half-sister - until she had married into the Potter family. So that makes us what, half-cousins twice removed, I guess?"

"Thank you for the short lesson, milady," I nodded, my eyes twinkling with mirth. "It's just prudent that I return the favour with a favour." She tilted her head not unlike Hedwig, her inquisitive gaze resting at my face. I pulled my chair closer to her and whispered into her ear, "Sirius Black is not a mass murderer. He's my Godfather and spent twelve years at Hotel Azkaban as an innocent man."

I did silently pray that this ability of mine to render beautiful women utterly speechless with a few nonchalantly spoken words would stay with me, well into my adulthood, if I will ever have one.

Half an hour later, when I finished my tale and she unexpectedly grabbed me and planted a firm smooch at my cheek, I was still of the same opinion.

"I knew that!" she exclaimed happily, her voice eerily reverberating in the dark and empty Great Hall. "I always liked him; he used to come over a lot to play with his 'favourite niece', as he would say. I have never believed he would betray your folks, Harry; he was effectively living at your dad's ever since he'd been cast out of the family."

"Yeah, he told me so. It's just... so hard... it's been thirteen years today..." I examined my fingers, my hands resting on my lap, so that she couldn't see the tears collecting in my eyes. Very gently, she put her hand around my shoulder and gently squeezed it, but said nothing. Words are superfluous on these occasions as the dead can't be brought back with them, and as to empty "I'm sorry's", well, I've had my fair share with them. So, I just relaxed into her comforting hug that did more good than ten thousand of those "I'm sorry's".

I wiped my eyes after a minute or so and looked into her eyes now mirroring my own, startled. "Come again? How'd you do that?"

"Tsk, tsk," she playfully wiggled her finger in front of my face. "That would be telling now, wouldn't it? A woman should never give out her secrets, my dear cousin."

"Okay, _Nymphadora..._ "

"You seem to forget, that I'm a fully trained Auror, Mr. Potter..." she nonchalantly toyed with her wand and I gulped. Aurors are supposed to be professionals, unlike the average Bobby from the street, rather like a detective, and this one was one from Moody's class having graduated with flying colours. _Don't try your luck, Potter_ , was the warning I sent to myself.

A loud "meouw" – a telltale sign of Mrs. Norris lurking somewhere nearby in the darkness - suddenly reminded me of how late it actually was. I knew curfew was already in place and I should have been in my own four-poster at least half an hour ago, but damn if I go back to my own dorm to listen to the traitor's snoring, like ever. I carefully voiced my opinion to Tonks.

"I think I might just have the perfect solution for you, cuz,' she smiled a radiant smile at me, for some strange reason curling my toes. She stood, immediately tripping over her own chair and releasing a few more selected cusswords one would never find in the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Pulling me up from my own chair and leading the way towards the staircase, she stopped for a brief moment, quickly puling her wand and shooting a quick jinx into the darkness. " _Confundus_."

"I'm not a cat person, Harry," she explained into my ear, her hot breath sending pleasant shivers down my spine. "I've been evading that damned car seven years long, but honestly, she has seriously outlived herself." Rushing up the stairs and turning a few times into corridors, the presence of which I had never been aware of – and in all honestly Dad, Sirius and Lupin mustn't have been either as they didn't light up on my cherished Map when I consulted it – we shortly arrived at the seventh floor. She led me towards an ugly painting and walked past it three times. To my greatest surprise a door started to form where mere moments ago only a blank wall stood.

Tonks quickly pulled me into a hug, her well-formed assets pressed firmly against me. I sneaked my arms around her, too, hoping she wouldn't me hex into next week for this small liberty. Here I was, hugging a newly found family member, who just happened to be a gorgeous young woman, and my crappy life suddenly seemed a little less crappy.

"In you go," she lovingly brushed my hair, lightly kissing my forehead. "Sleep tight. It was really nice meeting you in person."

I hesitantly let go of her, effectively ending one of the best moments – if not _the_ best moment - in my entire life. I pulled the door open and cast a return glance at her. "Likewise, Tonks. Good night. And... thanks."

"Expect to see more of me soon, cuz," she waved at me, pulling her wand and Disillusioning herself, and off she went. I still stood rooted there, in front of that mysterious door, her sudden double entendre sending various thoughts through my mind. But hey, who was I to complain? I gained family, a new friend, and – being a trained Auror - quite possibly someone who could teach me a thing or two in preparation to this blasted Tournament I had been forced into in order to survive.

I entered through the doorway into the mysterious room and was just about to pull the door close when a loud bang was heard from the corridor, followed by a painful hiss. I guessed Tonks' kneecap didn't like her repeated encounter with the thousand-year old marble floor.


	3. Chapter 3: The Come-and-Go Room

_A/N. I've got quite a few chapters mapped out, so thankfully my muse is still here, with me. A fair warning: this will be no super!Harry story, nor will he build himself a harem. At least in the beginning, there will be only a little romance. My Harry is almost the same fourteen-year old, somewhat insecure, maybe slightly above-average skilled wizard as in the books, but the events of the past three years didn't pass him without leaving a trace on him._

Being a relative newcomer in the magical world, I guess I still marvelled at small, everyday things magic could do that a Longbottom, a Weasley or a Malfoy would have considered mundane. The view opening before my eyes, however, would have forced any member of those old purebold families gasp in awe just like me, I was pretty sure of that.

The ornate door that just had appeared from nowhere led to an antechamber, maybe 60 by 20 feet in size. On the left side a quite a few bookshelves, heavily loaded with books of different sizes, colours and age, stood against the wall. Three desks with comfortable chairs were placed in front of the bookshelves and, against the right wall, a round table with four chairs was seen. The grey, aged limestone wall opposite the entrance featured five doors, four normal-sized, heavy oaken ones and one smaller. Walking up close, I was suprised to see shining bronze nameboards in fine calligraphy on four of them. "Harry Potter", "Hermione Granger", "Nymphadora Tonks", "Dobby", I read aloud. The fifth door was unmarked; upon peeking inside I was greeted with the sight of a huge bathroom with all conveniences. _How very convenient indeed._

I was only the slightest bit surprised when, out of nothing, my old acquaintance, the somewhat deranged, otherwise loyal house elf appeared and immediately launched himself at me, hugging my legs.

"Harry Potter Sir has called Dobby and Dobby has come to help!" he exclaimed happily.

I knelt down, having succesfully peeled his arms off myself.

"Dobby, my friend, I haven't called you, but I _am_ glad to see you."

He nodded profusely. "Dobby knows about someone entering Harry Potter Sir into Tournament. Someone wants to harm Harry Potter Sir."

I grimaced at the elf. "Yeah, Dobby, I already realized as much." I glanced around the room. "Can you tell me where we are?"

"Oh yes, Dobby can tell Harry Potter Sir. This is the the Come-and-go Room, wizards call it the Room of Requirements. It appears when the wizard needs something and walks past the hidden door three times thinking of his needs. Mistress Rowena built this room a long time ago, spent two years casting her magic, she did."

"So, you want to say, that I needed a place to sleep tonight and the magic of the castle made it up exactly as I needed?"

"Harry Potter Sir is right. Harry Potter Sir needed a place to stay and sleep, because many students didn't like Harry Potter Sir being chosen for Tournament."

It felt somewhat awkward being addressed this way just about ten times in the past few minutes. I carefully voiced my opinion to the elf. "Dobby, do you think you could call me simply Harry? I am not your master; I would rather like to consider us friends."

"Dobby can do that, Harry Potter Sir... Harry," the elf gave in.

"Okay, Dobby, that's a good start, I guess. So can you explain to me why these additional doors are there and why are these nameboards on the doors?"

"The castle made those rooms for Miss Hermione Granger and Miss Nymphadora Tonks, your closest friend and your closest family member. Miss Tonks will also be able to provide you protection."

"And you, Dobby? How do you come into the picture?" I already understood the logic behind this; I guess I was curious how the elf himself saw the situation. "I hope you are here both as friend and family?"

"Dobby is honoured," the elf said simply. "Not many wizards would call a simple house-elf a friend."

"Well, we have a long history together," I smiled at Dobby, "and you did try to protect me in second year, even though my uncle didn't like your idea of protecting me by throwing a pie at the head of his boss' wife."

"Dobby did what Dobby had to do," the elf answered as-a-matter-of-factly. " Still being in bad Master's employ, Dobby couldn't reveal bad Master's plan to you, so Dobby had to do everything in order to prevent you coming back to Hogwarts."

"But I did come back, no thanks to you, and you had to improvise. You still saved me from Malfoy Sr., so let's call it even. So you mean I don't have to go back to Gryffindor Tower and I can stay here? I really don't want to breathe the same air as Weasley at this point. That would be _awesome!"_

"Of course you can stay here. The Come-and-Go Room will provide you with everything you need except food."

"Awesome!" I exclaimed again, pulling open the leftmost door with my nameboard on it. The room behind the door bore a lot of similarities to my dorm in Gryffindow Tower. I guess the magic of the Room of Requirement understood that I liked my dorm well enough, so it tried to recreate the familar environment except the loud snoring and continuous farting of the Walking Stomach. Same colours, same furniture, same comfortable four-poster, same window opening at the panorama of Black Lake. Even my Hogwarts trunk was there and, upon randomly opening a cupboard, I was surprised to find a few new sets of Muggle clothes as well as my Hogwarts robes and Quidditch gear in it. No Dudley leftovers, even those I hadn't burned yet were gone. An elegant Muggle suit with a very light blue long-sleeve shirt, matching tie and shiny black shoes; a few pairs of jeans – dark blue and back, T-shirts, hoodies, sweatshirts, a winter coat and two or three pairs of sports shoes - I could get used to it, I thought.

Suddenly, a noise took my attention; something knocking on glass. Turning towards the window again, I caught sight of a huge barn owl holding a small envelope in its beak. I opened the window – even if created by magic, the chill of the October night and the owl flying to circles around my head were, in fact, very much real. Landing on the small desk, the messenger opened its beak, letting the envelope fall on the polished surface. Out of nothing, a small plate with a few owl treats materialized on the desk and I fed a few to the majestuous animal. Letting him out of the window, I looked down at the Black Lake for a few moments, my nostrils drawing in the chilly air of the night of Samhain, then closed the window and joined Dobby at the table again, opening the parchment. In neat, female handwriting with carefully rounded letters, it read:

" _Harry,_

 _First of all, I would have considered you an idiot if you had put your name into the Goblet. I guess, this is just another way of saying that I believe you. Not many of us do right now, even your own house seems to have been divided. Never thought Weasley would be one of them, though. It served him right, the lesson you gave him, but I can't help but think you'd gone too soft on the prat and he would have deserved a stiff beating. Anyway, you put up a good show but I guess you must feel as if it were year two all over again. I'm really sorry for that._

 _Just spoke with Auntie. Kingsley dropped by half an hour ago, unexpected, and told her of your summons. He was royally pissed, but so was Auntie once she had reviewed Kingsley's memories and notes. She's going to assign some Auror to you as protective detail, expect an official letter tomorrow first thing in the morning._

 _Keep your head up and good luck. You have more friends than you think, even outside Gryffindor._

 _Susan_ "

Now, this was a surprise. I can't say I had spoken more than 20 words with the otherwise rather attractive strawberry blonde Hufflepuff, these past three years, but her letter was a clear proof of Hufflepuff loyalty. I made a mental note to thank her for the letter and her support first thing in the morning. "Auntie" was of course Amelia Bones, Head of DMLE, who brought up Susan after her parents had been killed, and the extremely heavy weight on my heart seemed to lessen, just the slightest bit; it was nice to have some support from above. Taking the nameboard on the third door into consideration, I already knew who my protective detail would be and I couldn't say I was too unhappy with this arrangement. I knew, however, that in the morning I should play my part convincingly and look at least somewhat surprised when the shit would hit the fan.

All in all, I wasn't even surprised when the second door opened and my bushy-haired friend exited her room, pyjama, bathrobe and towel in her hands, only to drop everything on the floor and jump at me, her fierce hug threatening to break my ribs, one for one, when she caught sight of me

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed against my chest, "I was looking for you in the Common Room, even your dorm, but nobody knew where you'd gone to! Somebody wants to kill you and I'm so afraid!"

"Tell me something new," I tried to crack a joke, soothingly rubbing her back. "Shhh, we'll figure it out, don't worry."

"Harry," she raised her tear-stained doe-eyes, "this Tournament _is_ dangerous. Whoever did this, he wants to do you in for good. I have read, of course, the Tournament rules, and being chosen as Champion is a magically binding contract. You have no choice but to compete, otherwise you'll lose your magic."

"Yeah, word for word what Barty Crouch told us," I cast a wry grimace, silently enjoying her warm closeness and tightened my embrace around her.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. " I don't know how, as of yet, but I will do everything I can so that you'd survive, even if we're only fourth year."

My thumb gently brushed over her cheek. "Hogwarts didn't know what hit her when the hat sorted Hermione Granger into Gryffindor."

She balled her hand into a small fist and hit me on my upper arm. "You daft prat." Her tears were gone, however, and the corners of her mouth were curling upward.

"Ouch, woman," I tried to look hurt. "Now you have to kiss it better."

I almost missed the momentary expression of slight shock on her face. Then, she unexpectedly leaned in and planted a light kiss on my lips. Now it was my turn to be shocked as I stood there, my feet rooted into the ground.

"Don't get used to it," she warned me playfully, turning to the elf. "Hello Dobby."

"Hello, Miss Hermione Granger," Dobby beamed.

"Erm... Hermione?" She offered.

"It takes some nudging, Hermione, but he'll get around, " I interjected, trying to clear my mind from the sudden pink haze and its somewhat confused state. "So, how did you get here?" I picked up her clothes from the floor. I demonstratively turned my head away from the sight of the white lacy undergarment in the small bundle as I handed it over to her; somehow I knew, though, that I had made some good impression on her with being considerate even if her attractive features were slightly flushed.

"I was preparing to get a shower before going to bed," she nodded thankfully, relieving me of her belongings and hiding them behind her back. "On my way to the bathroom I saw a door form on the wall. My damned Gryffindor curiosity took over, so I just opened it and stepped across and found myself in this other bedroom. I saw Lavender trying to follow me but the door just disappeared right in front of her nose. Rather comical situation, actually. Come, look."

We went up to her door and she opened it, pointing inside. "Exact copy of my bedroom at home. Even my TV, CD-player and computer are here; they won't work, of course, as there's no electricity and even if there were, electric devices don't work at places where even the air is simply oozing magic."

Listening her small lecture I couldn't help but thing abut how intimate this moment actually was, getting an insider view into the life of Hermione while being invited into her bedroom. I guess she was just a normal girl anyway, maybe a little bit too studious to my liking, but, as the previous small intermezzo had shown, definitely a girl.

Pulling her door close, she walked up to the third one. "Tsk, tsk, Potter," she winked at me, reading the nameboard. "Looks like you're building up a small harem here. Who is the lucky Nymphadora Tonks?"

Without saying a word, I handed over Susan's letter to her. Reading it over twice, she raised her head from the parchment. "So, this room knew?"

"Ask Dobby," I shook my head. "The only thing I know is that she's an Auror from Moody's class... _and she's my cousin,_ " I added in a mysterious voice. "She told me herself tonight; actually it was her who showed me this room."

"Your _cousin?_ "

"Yeah, from my paternal grandmother's side, at least it's what she told me," I yawned. "We can catch up tomorrow when she arrives – you will like her, I'm sure – but I'm knackered and I guess you are too. So please feel free to use the bathroom as you had originally planned, I will wait."

She stepped close, very close. "Brushing me off already, Potter?" She whispered into my ear. "You won't succeed. I will see you, safe and sound, through the Tournament, no matter what." She repeated her previous performance with her lips against mine and I gulped heavily. My eyes opened only when the door of the bathroom closed behind her to the sight of the grinning Dobby, my lips still remembering the taste of her lips, milk chocolate and peppermint. I started thinking it had a rather good chance of turning into my favourite taste, once I could figure out the reason behind these sudden, small signs of affection, that is.

Having fled into the relative safety of my old-new bedroom and leaving a startled elf behind, I threw myself on my bed and pulled the bedcover over my head, contemplating about the many events of the evening. Hard to say how much time had passed until the door silently opened, only the soft creaking of the floorboards under light footsteps giving away the presence of someone nearing my bed. I felt my warm cocoon being pulled off me and stared into the face of my best friend.

"What's happening to us, Hermione?" I managed to blurt out, clearly embarrassed.

"Harry, I seriously meant what I said," she sat on my bed, taking my hand into hers. She smelled oh so good. "I will do my best to get you out of the Tournament. If I don't succeed, I will spend every moment you need to help you prepare and survive the tasks on your way. I will snog you senseless ten times a day if it helps you to take your mind off things. I'm not ready to date you, at least not right now, but then, I'm not ready to date anyone yet. I know that you're my very best friend, and my place is right beside you right now." She squeezed my hand hard and stood up. "The bathroom is yours, we will talk tomorrow. Sleep tight."

"That snogging thing sounds just marvellous," I winked at her. It felt, though, as if both of us were suddenly replaced with slightly modified versions of ourselves, so different this situation was from our three-year long, platonic friendship."Sleep tight, my guardian angel." Her radiant smile in answer made my heart skip a beat and, as she leaned in for a good-night kiss I was all to happy to administer, our lips lingered a little bit longer than was appropriate for two people who were clearly not dating.

When the door closed behind her, I groaned. I definitely needed a long, cold shower, but at least there still were moments in my miserable life when it didn't suck to be me. The past few minutes, however, unfortunately added a few items to my ever-growing list of problems-to-be-solved. _Why does Hermione keep kissing me? Why do I enjoy it so much and why do I want to kiss her back?_


	4. Chapter 4: Morning Glory and Whatnot

It was damn hard to feign indifference to the 500 pairs of eyes following my steps as soon as I entered the Great Hall the next morning with Hermione at my side. On our way I warned her about the risks she would face by taking openly my side, but she only waved away my concerns saying that being ostracized for associating with me was something she'd already got used to and couldn't care less about. So we just blocked out all noise as we strode towards the Hufflepuff table.

"Hermione, the Gryffindor table is here!"

"Thank you, Ronald, I'm very much aware of that," she spat back, not slowing down for a second. Upon reaching the Puffs' table, something unexpected happened. Cedric, until now in animated discussion with a classmate of his, abruptly stopped talking and stood, reaching out with his right hand toward me.

"I don't know how it had happened, Harry, but we're in it together."

"Thanks, Cedric," I nodded, feeling really thankful of the acceptance, and firmly shook his hand. _Damned Hufflepuff loyalty._ "You are the one and only Hogwarts Champion, so when I get out of the Tournament, I'm going to root for you. I will even wear your Hufflepuff scarf twenty four-seven if that helps you secure first place before that snotty Française and wonder-Krum."

Amused, Diggory snorted, giving my hand a firm shake again. "Agreed. If I win, I'll buy you ice-cream, Harrikins. Miss Granger," he acknowledged Hermione, not unkindly, and the two of us found two empty spots that had just mysteriously appeared on Susan's right and got seated.

"Thanks for your letter, Susan," I leaned closer, trying to keep the conversation private.

" No sweat, Harry," she nodded back. "Hi Hermione. I guess the Hat sorted you into the wrong House."

She was right, of course, but not completely. Hermione was as much a Lion, as she was a Raven _and_ a Badger at the same time.

"Hi Susan," Hermione smiled back. "I'm perfectly fine here, thank you."

"So, Auntie said that I wasn't supposed to tell you about this, but she said she knew that I would do so anyway and, being the awesome Auntie that she is, she couldn't deny anything from her favourite niece, yours truly," the strawberry blonde continued in one breath. "You will also be receiving a letter from her in a few moments if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, there will be an official Ministry inquiry as to last night's events. An Auror will be stationed permanently at Hogwarts to protect you." Of course, Hermione and I already knew about that, but Susan didn't have to know that we knew, as of yet.

"Not that he would be allowed to bring me to seventh-year level or attend the tasks himself in order to protect me," I played my part reasonably well, I guessed.

"Champions are not supposed to be aided during the tasks, of course, at least not by staff members," Hermione piped in.

"Of course not, but Auntie and Kingsley guessed that the person entering you is still at Hogwarts and might take a go at you any moment." _What a nice perspective._ "Hence the protective detail."

A huge dark brown, almost black owl chose this very moment to drop an official-looking envelope in front of me, dead right on my plate loaded with scrambled eggs and black pudding. I fished out a rash of bacon from under the envelope and fed it to the bird. When it took off again, I tore the envelope open.

 _"Dear Mr. Potter, Harry,_

 _I'm writing you not only in my quality as Director of the DMLE, hence the somewhat informal tone of this letter. Following up on last night's events,I want to start an inquiry into the charges brought forward by you against one or more, as of yet unspecified persons._

 _This formal hearing will take place on November 5 at 10:00 at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Your protective detail will accompany you to and from the hearing and also will be present during the hearing. Normally I would advise you that you, as a minor, should also be accompanied by your magical guardian, but in this specific case you are allowed to bring your legal representative/counsellor Headmaster and the Hogwarts staff already have been informed of your absence from school._

 _For the sake of objectivity, please let me warn you that giving false statements during the hearing will be punishable by law up to the extent of a fine of one thousand Galleons. To secure the acceptance of your statements as genuine you may want to elect to testify under Veritaserum under the supervision of your legal representative/counsellor; two drops of Veritaserum, fifteen questions previously approved by your counsellor._

 _Harry, I want to find the culprit who did this and I also want address and solve the other alarming issues you mentioned yesterday. I of course knew your parents - I daresay we were sort of friends - and I knew they had other ideas about your upbringing in case anything happened to them, so, if your accusations are true, heads will roll, that one I can promise._

 _Don't worry, son, you haven't done anything wrong, no matter what people would tell you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Amelia Bones"_

Casting a minor Privacy Charm – the one I knew – I let my two female companions read the letter as well.

"Well, I expected anything but this from the Director of Magical Law Enforcement," I cast a quick glance around, carefully observing the girls' reaction. "A fine of 500 G for blowing up my aunt, using my wand in a Muggle neighbourhood to call the Knight Bus, or just breathing loud, but not this."

"Obviously, the director of the DMLE should be upholding the law and ideally be unbiased," my dear bookworm-Hermione piped in – and I simply failed to find anything illogical in her comment , but I felt there was a big...

"Buuut," she stopped, pausing for effect, and I swore the first time I got out to Muggle England I would be buying at least a dozen lottery tickets, "with you being a _celebrity,_ Mr. Potter..."

She balled her small fist and took a playful hit at my shoulder. "I mean, any accusations about conspiracy to murder as well as Professor Dumbledore's obvious inaptitude to protect those put into his care by one or another obscure law should ring a bell with just about _any_ law enforcement and what with _you_ uttering those charges just added the extra weight to be taken _really_ seriously."

I stared at her, incredulous. "One day, hopefully in the not-so-distant future, you will tell me how you can utter so many smart words and build and soundly defend any compex theory without even breathing, Ms. Granger."

 _Ouch._ This time it was two fists, one redhead, one brunette, and far from playful as both my aching shoulders would witness.

"Down boy," Susan lovingly chided me, "it's Hermione Granger, future Minister of Magic you are talking about."

"Woe to anyone crossing her path, I would say," a new voice broke through the privacy charm. I questioningly raised my head.

"Sloppy wandwork, Potter, with that Privacy Charm. It would have taken a second-year about two seconds to break through it," the newcomer heavily plopped down on a chair opposite us. "Hello me, hi Hermione!"

Two sets of eyes – one green, one chocolate brown – grew saucer-size and two sets of – rather kissable, I would say – plump, soft, pink lips formed a perfect "O" at the sight of the newcomer. _Down boy indeed._

"Hello... me, I guess," the Susan on my left broke out of the stupor first.

I had a fairly good idea as to what was happening, so I leaned back on my chair and decided to enjoy the show. It _was_ quite enjoyable, thank you very much, watching Hermione - for once at a loss for words - gasping for breath, her eyes darting to and fro between the two Susans.

"You are not Susan Bones," she finally blurted out, reaching for her wand. "Who the hell are you?"

"Why do you think I am not Susan Bones?"

"I simply know, right?"

"Hermione, put that thing away before you poke out someone's eye," I reached over, placing my hand on hers – God it felt soft and warm and alive – and gently lowered it. "I'm sure there's a completely reasonable explanation as to whe have two Susan Boneses at the Hufflepuff table at this very moment."

"Sure there is," faux-Susan snorted, casting an imperceptible wink in my direction. "I am the real Susan Bones and the one on Harry's left is an impostor."

"The Hell it is!" The temperature started to rise dangerously around the table. "This is the _real_ Susan Bones and if you don't tell me this instant who you are and what you want from us, I will curse you to Jupiter and backwards! Let go of me, Harry!" She struggled a bit but didn't remove her hand from mine which was still a good sign. I winked back at her tormentor, as if trying to say "Stop torturing her!"

"Guilty as charged," faux-Susan reached under her robe and produced an Auror badge, placing it on the table in front of Hermione. "What gave me away?"

Unfortunately, this time Hermione did withdraw her hand and picked up the badge, examining it very carefully. Then, she resignedly sighed and passed the badge back to faux-Susan. "At first I thought you had taken Polyjuice Potion, which would explain the 100% similarity from the outside as I simply can't tell the two of you apart. However, the original you is a female who is older than us, at least a few inches higher and much better developed than a teenager; I saw you walk towards the table and you seemed quite incomfortable with your body as if you weren't used to walking on your own legs."

 _Hell yeah, those well-developed C-cups were pressed against me in a goodbye hug last night, tell me all about it._

"However," Hermione continued, "your voice slightly being different from Susans would suggest otherwise, as the Polyjuice Potion would create a _100% perfect_ copy of the original. So, my best bet is some incredibly sophisticated Transfiguration charms, quite possibly beyond the capabilities of Professor McGonagall, I even dare say the Headmaster."

"Right and wrong," Tonks finally took pity on my slightly hyperventillating best female friend and her still dumbstruck alter ego – or rather original ego, morphing her hair into an exact copy of Hermione's untameable bush.

"A METAMORPHMAGUS!" The excited shriek from both channels of my female stereo system left my ears ringing for a few seconds.

"Auror Tonks of the DMLE, at your service," she morphed back into her gorgeous self - fully fitting into Hermione's description that I was rather pleased to see, even if she was my cousin and much older and, as such, no possible dating material - only her quick glance at my direction suggesting that the girls didn't need to knew her first name if I wanted to live another day. "Damn, I never managed to get that voice stem part straight."

"Other than that, you did a marvellous job," Susan admitted. "For a moment, I did believe I was seeing double. But you, Mr. Potter, on the other hand..."

"Yes, you, Mr. Potter," Hermione piped in, threateningly drawing her brows together, " you weren't surprised for the slightest bit. You knew all about this, didn't you, that's why you were sitting here all so calm and didn't say a single word?"

I pulled my neck into my sholders, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. Winding up one female could sometimes be damaging to one's health, but angering two of the smartest and most powerful Hogwarts witches of our age I was at present bookended by could only be classified as something akin to suicide. So I just silently prayed that whatever punishment would come it would be quick and relatively painless.

The symmetrical, ugly, blackish bruises on my shoulders would remain visible even after a week and at least two pints of Dittany essence.

After my punishment had properly been dealt with, and, in Hermione's case, immediately been kissed better after warning me of all possible consequencies of angering the future Minister of Magic – Susan promptly refused saying in a dark voice that it was her that had been pranked and such pranks needed to be washed by blood and preferably lots of it – it was time to finish breakfast and start classes. I carefully voiced my opinion to the girls, only to have been delivered the biggest surprise of my short life yet.

"Screw classes," my bushy-haired friend declared as-a-matter-of-factly." She could not miss the incredulous expression appering on my face, how could she?

"Are _you_ sure _you_ are not a Polyjuiced Ron Weasley" I managed to blurt out when my initial shock wore off.

"Oh, seriously, Harry," Hermione huffed annoyedly, "you have a hearing in a few days that we have to prepare you for, we have to find a legal counsellor for you, we have to agree on the questions we want them to ask you if you choose to testify under Veritaserum, ..."

"Down girl," I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, burying my face in her hair. "It will all be fine. I got you, Tonks, Susan; we will figure things out together," I whispered into her ear.

I felt her almost imperceptible shiver as my hot breath brushed her skin but she didn't drew away; on the contrary, she turned towards me in the uncomfortable chair and threw her arms around my neck.

"Hey lovebirds," the soft mezzosoprano of Tonks swam into my ear, "I know just the right place for you to practice your lovemaking,"

"NYMPHADORA!"

"She is right, Harry. Let's move to our new 'quarters' and start planning. I'm just going to talk to Professor McGonagall; she will understand, and I will ask her to inform the other teachers as well. Give me a sec." Hermione rose and made her way towards the staff table, engaging in vivid conversation with our head of House. I did make out a few barely imperceptible wand gestures as she cast a privacy bubble around themselves and this time even Tonks seemed impressed.

"Damn, Harry, you got yourself a looker who's mad about you and on top of all this she's got the best set of brains this fine school can offer. I'm really proud of you, scrawny cousin of mine."

"Wait... wh... what... how..."

"BOYS!" Tonks and Susan spoke in unison in that specific tone that must have been used for centuries by members of the fair sex to describe clueless males. Yes, I was clueless, alright? How could I even expect or hope for anything like that when I didn't even manage to figure out my own feelings towards Hermione? Hell, until last night even I didn't know I was having feelings for her, feelings beyond that deep friendship that had cemented us together precisely three years ago on Halloween night, and now I was outright scared that these new feelings would ruin that friendship if we didn't work out. We did have an awkward conversation hanging above our heads as a sort of Damocles' sword, that's for sure.

"Hermione is right, Mr. Celebrity," Susan spoke in an unexpectedly serious tone. "You have been marked; school and classes should be your least concern now."

"Tell me something I don't know, Sue dear," I lowered my head, resigned. Somehow, when someone not even in the least interested in me said those words, they suddenly started to weigh much heavier on my chest, making me even more realize exactly in how deep shit I had been landed.

She flushed prettily at hearing the sudden term of endearment. Yeah, about this time everyone standing on my side and not on the opposite one was dear to me – even though I could count them on two hands perhaps, but somehow these three lovely ladies and I were bound to form a strong team and, as such, stood much closer to me than any of my other supporters might have. Hermione, of course, even closer; we just had to make up our minds about just precisely how close.

"Really, I'm very thankful for your support, and not because of your aunt being who she is, Sue."

"No sweat, loverboy," she came back at me; honestly, just where on Merlin's saggy underwear could she have picked up those Muggle phrases? "Come on, your girlfriend is on a mission, so it seems. I have double Potions first, and I don't want to get on Snape's wrong side, so..."

"Why, he has a good side too?"

"Touché," Sue cackled pleasantly. "Anyway, after Potions I will look you up, maybe I can help with something too."

Hermione, who in the meantime had rejoined us at the table and poured herself a last cup of coffee, emptying it in one gulp, Tonks and I shared a quick glance, then the two girls nodded in unison.

"Meet us in two hours in the Astronomy Tower, we will have quite a few things to discuss," I decided quickly. I stood quickly, and boldly planted a quick kiss on Sue's red locks; yes, I allowed myself this much luxury hoping this minor display of friendship would not spoil any possible relationships that might or might not develop between Hermione and myself.

"Where do _I_ sign up for bragging rights about having been kissed by the Boy-who-lived?" Tonks interjected, winking at Sue.

"You are family, Tonks, you don't count. 'Family' kisses on the cheek are acceptable; you two snogging, however, would have a high 'EWH' factor in my book," Hermione brushed her away, claiming my hand and pulling me up in one swift motion. Tonks stood as well joining us, and we waved Sue goodbye as we left the Great Hall, making our way towards the staircase.

"How about... this?" Tonks innocently asked, briefly morphing her hair into a short black carre and her features into one certain Slytherin's.

Hermione stopped, and thought for a while. "Technically, it would be still 'EWH', but... a poor woman like me does have to make some sacrifices for the Greater Good sometimes," she finished with a faux theatrical gesture.

"Do I get a saying in this?" I asked.

"NO!" both girl answered in unison. "You will get instead the snog of your lifetime, Tonks her bragging rights, I – hopefully - a sort of boyfriend with more snogging experience than I have and a certain someone in Slytherin, well, a very bad day indeed. So I'm afraid, my dear Harry, that you _will_ have to make _this one_ sacrifice. I will make it up for you, don't worry," Hermione squeezed my hand, drawing me closer until our shoulders brushed against each other.

"Dear me," I fanned my face with my free hand. "The things _I_ have to suffer for the Greater Good." Inside, however, my heart was beating a wild sarabande. _Which healthy 14-year old boy wouldn't be excited in my place about the perspective of being snogged senseless by a gorgeous young woman?_

It took us quite some time to get to the seventh floor as we wanted to avoid students and teachers alike, so we took again the same shortcuts Tonks and I had taken last night. A door hidden behind a tapestry depicting an idyllic pastoral scene took us from the second floor directly to the fifth, at least judging by the classrooms we had seen on our way. And, as I could judge from Hermione's body language – we held hands all the way – she marvelled at those tiny miracles magic could provide no less than myself.

"Wait a sec, guv'nor," Tonks stood abruptly as we arrived at the corridor section leading to the Come-and-Go Room. She pulled her wand – thank God this time not from her cleavage - and etched a few runes into the left wall, the floor and the ceiling, ending on the opposite wall. Then she pronounced a short incantation – not Latin, I could figure out that, rather something slightly resembling Germanic, Norse perhaps – and four bright blue rays of light slammed into the runes which shimmered faintly for a few seconds, then vanished, as did the whole corridor section in front of us. I walked up to the closest wall and examined the places where the runes had been drawn, Hermione of course following closely, but could find no sign of the runes ever having been there.

"Nope, not telling," Tonks singsonged, feeling that Hermione was just about to burst with a dozen questions. "Down lass, what you don't know can't hurt you. Suffice it to say that there are only about five people in Great Britain who could break through this privacy shield. Nobody will EVER find this corridor section again, until..."

Suddenly, I felt as if my stomach had been stung by a gigantic wasp. The pain, however, went as it came and the corridor came into existence again before my eyes. Tonks, finally, replaced her wand and I emitted a mental sigh.

"I keyed the ward to you, cuz, so that only you and those in direct physical contact with you can pass through the illusion. Other people will feel a very much real solid wall, and so will their heads, I'm afraid." She grabbed my hand and I led the two girls across the barrier, and in a few moments we were already inside the room that I suddenly came to think of as a sort of Headquarters to Operation-Make-Harry-Survive-The-Tournament.


End file.
